Submissions sought. Get fresh eyes on your opening page. Submission directions below.
The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.
Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.
What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page. Directions for submissions are below—they include a request to post the rest of the chapter, but that’s optional.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling.
Donald Maass,, literary agent and author of many books on writing, says, “Independent editor Ray Rhamey’s first-page checklist is an excellent yardstick for measuring what makes openings interesting.”
A First-page Checklist (PDF here)
- It begins to engage the reader with the character
- Something is wrong/goes wrong or challenges the character
- The character desires something.
- The character takes action. Can be internal or external action: thoughts, deeds, emotions. This does NOT include musing about whatever.
- There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
- It happens in the NOW of the story.
- Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
- Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
- The one thing it must do: raise a story question.
A reminder of what you’re after here. This blog is about crafting compelling openings. Not interesting, compelling. Why does it have to meet that hurdle? First, if your work is going to an agent, you’re competing with hundreds of submissions. You have to cut through that clutter and competition with powerful storytelling and strong writing. If it’s a reader browsing in a bookstore or online, the same goes—there are scores of published books competing with yours. Yeah, you need compelling.
Renee sends the first chapter of Blurred Dreams. The rest of the chapter is after the break.
“I know I hit her.”
“We wouldn’t be hunting her if you had, Andros. You probably just clipped her.”
The cold air of Stromli Four carried the brusque voice Jem Wilmont assumed was the head ambusher all the way to the fat statue she was hiding behind. Irritated, she risked a peak at the five figures standing just this side of the intersection. They couldn’t be Kurzvall’s people; he would have warned them stunners were ineffective. Beckett and his pirate-rogues were either in prison or dead.
Which of the wannabe-my-boss not liking no sent them after her? How’d they track her?
“She disappeared too fast to be far,” the brusque voice said. A hand motion sent two figures darting across the street. Quick flashes of lights into doorways and under the few vehicles lining this side street marked their progress.
Jem drew back. Shit, damn, crap. It wouldn’t take the miscreants long to reach this spot. She didn’t dare shift here, some security cam might catch it. She needed—halleluiah! An alley about twenty meters down and on her side of the street. Good thing this planet’s gravity was Earth-like, giving her heavier muscles an edge over the locals. Otherwise she wouldn’t have made the fast sprint to this hiding place.
The crunch of footsteps on frozen snow drew closer. She bolted out of her hiding spot.
Full disclosure: Renee is an editing client of mine, and I’ll link to her published novel in a moment—I recommend it highly for a fine science fiction tale.
This opening has all it needs—a likeable person (I have empathy for someone being hunted by killers, not that I ever have been). Good action, the character is in definite peril. So, good strong “what happens next” story question.
Two little edits—you mean “peek” instead of “peak” (a mountain top). And I would italicize “shift” to let the owner the meaning is not the common one. I’ve had to deal with this in my own work in progress when a copy shifts into coyote form. Your thoughts?
Here’s the novel I edited for Renee, Blurring Reality. It’s a good read, I promise. And this new one looks promising.
Ray
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
- your title
- your complete 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter
- Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ. Note: I’m adding a copyright notice for the writer at the end of the post. I’ll use just the first name unless I’m told I can use the full name.
- Also, please tell me if it’s okay to post the rest of the chapter so people can turn the page.
- And, optionally, include your permission to use it as an example in a book on writing craft if that's okay.
- If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
- If you rewrite while you wait for your turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of the first-page checklist before submitting to the Flogometer.
Flogging the Quill © 2019 Ray Rhamey, excerpt © 2021 by Renee Chapman.
My books. You can read sample chapters and learn more about the books here.
Writing Craft Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling
Mystery (coming of age) The Summer Boy
Science Fiction Gundown Free ebooks.
Continued:
“There she is!”
“Get her!”
Jem felt the thump and warm tingle of in her back. She kept running. Footsteps pounded behind her. She reached the entrance and darted in. Between the third and fourth step she simply vanished.
Her heart stopped pounding. Her lungs quit heaving. Cold sensations disappeared. Wonderful. Maybe I should have shifted into ghost-mode sooner.
Her pursers come to a screeching halt at the alley entrance. Wow. That was some heavy duty cursing. They began searching down the alley, two to a side. More cussing as one of them slipped on an icy spot. The leader stayed at the entrance—Jem watching unseen beside him—as he divided his attention between the alley and the street. Watching for Enforcers?
The four worked their way back.
“Nothing, Yance. Not a damn thing. Where the hell did she go?” said one male.
“I definitely hit her the second time,” Andros said. “Square in the back. She didn’t even stumble. She must be wearing some kind of armor under her thermal suit.”
Yance rubbed his chin. “She was expecting trouble or gave it a high probability. She’s most likely ex-military turned mercenary. Which means she probably also has a hover belt.”
Nope. Guess again. Jem watched, amused, as they all scanned the alley’s rooftops.
“All right,” the gang leader said, “we know where she’s going. Spread out. Hit all the entrances to the tourist section and the hotels. I want that cash card.”
“We all want that cash card,” the female retorted. “She sold Jantze three J-crystals.”
A short, squat male blew on his gloves. “That’s a frigging lot of credits. My split alone will get me off this ice ball.”
“Then you’d better find her,” Yance snapped.
Yay. Just a localized robbery attempt. Jantze, the clerk-manager she’d conducted the transaction with, probably contacted this gang when he went into the office to download the credits into the cash card.
“How, Yance?” the female said. “We don’t have a name and not much of a description.”
Yance shot them all an irritated look. “There shouldn’t be too many women out alone at this time of night. She’s from off-planet—you know the shortcuts. Get there first. Talk with your contacts about any wandering women or one that stands out. I’ll check with Jantze, see if he has any more information.”
They split up as a light snow began falling, Yance heading back toward Abbot’s Good Deals, the pawn shop with a no-questions-asked sideline.
Jem mulled things over as she followed along behind him. She’d landed yesterday here in Valasia, Stromli Four’s capital. Just one more in a long string of planets she’d visited in the last five months, selling the Jaguide crystals Beckett had forced her to steal. Its main tourist draws were year-round winter sports with toasty warm casinos and gaming rooms.
Most pawn fronts dealing in the high-dollar black market could only handle one or two crystals as each one was worth a fortune, depending on size. After a few discreet inquires in the right places, and figuring the silent casino backers could afford the high-value ones, she’d selected the one that appeared to be the safest: Abbot’s Good Deals.
Obviously, appearances were deceiving.
She phased through Abbot’s door, to find Yance browsing and acting like a normal customer until Jantze’s real customer left. Jem’s mouth set in a grim line after listening to their conversation. Her cash card hadn’t been their first greedy grab. Evidently the murderous group had their own sideline going. Their victims weren’t just robbed, but quietly disposed of to keep anyone from learning about their little enterprise.
Arms folded, lips pursed, she considered the best way to stop them. When Yance left, Jem trailed along behind the gang leader.
***
Detective Jerry Peklow stomped an inch of snow off his boots as he entered the small station’s vestibule. He enjoyed the freedom and independence working on the city’s southern edge allowed, but not so much the weather’s full and unimpeded power sweeping in from the open terrain. As his new partner had learned the hard way. Newbie Detective Tony Feldman was currently out with a mild concussion from an icy misstep.
The duty officer gave Peklow a head shake as he entered the main building. “It wasn’t supposed to snow tonight,” Officer Stahl said.
“Maybe they should have stuck their heads out and looked. That’s twice this week they got it wrong. Especially that wind.” Irritated at the weather morons, he added, “It’s a four-stepper out there.” Meaning it only took four steps outside for nose hairs to stiffen and freeze. “Any calls?” He swatted ice off his cap.
“No. We can probably thank the weather for that. Looks like winter might be blowing in early.”
He headed down the hall, pulling his gloves off. He was still loosening his jacket when he halted just inside his office. There was a woman sitting in this visitor’s chair. Odd. Stahl hadn’t warned him he had a guest. On second thought, why had Stahl let her back into the office area at all?
He studied her as he hung his jacket on the back of his chair and seated himself. Young. Blue-eyed, fair skinned. No scars. A brown braid disappeared down the back of her jacket. She hadn’t removed her gloves. He pursed his lips. Something danced at the edge of his memory.
“Don’t blame your officer. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
He leaned back, hiding his shock. It was her. Jem Seaborne Wilmont. Wearing contacts, since the Ghost had heterochromia eyes. He’d never expected to actually meet her. Rumored to be an accomplished assassin—as yet unproven—her ability to penetrate both electronic and physical security systems was well documented. And just demonstrated. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t good.
He crossed his arms. “Can I expect a report of some kind of mayhem?”
Annoyance flashed across her features. “I’m making the report and the mayhem was already here. Abbot’s Good Deals pawn shop on Twenty-Eighth Street…you know it’s a front?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know who’s funding it?”
“Yes.”
“Have you tried raiding it?”
“No.”
“Lack of solid evidence or steel balls?”
His jaw flexed. “Yes to the first.” He’d raid the damn place if he had credible proof.
“What about the murder gang operating out of it?”
He dropped his arms and straightened. “You’re sure?”
“Two nights ago, an ambush was waiting several blocks away after I made a high-level sale at the shop. Obviously, it failed. The comments I overheard afterward linked the gang with the shop manager. I snooped. Jantze, the evening manager, alerts his accomplices to customers leaving with a large cash card which they…retrieve, then split among themselves.”
They hadn’t recognized her. Only idiots would antagonize someone with her reputation.
“They pick their victims carefully,” Wilmont continued. “Off-world, low-profile visitors mostly. Celebrities, high-profilers, and locals would be too easily missed and give away the pattern. Check local crematorium records; one should have a number of unscheduled late-night usages. One of its workers is either taking a cut or getting paid by the body. The victim’s keys are used to access, empty, and clear them out of the hotel. An accomplice in Port Authority slips their name on an out-going cruise ship’s roster and a bag or two in general cargo.”
“Nobody would buy them just disappearing off the ship.”
Wilmont’s left eyebrow tilted upward. “Quite simple, actually, due to the ships’ multiple stops. They use Starlight Five. Another accomplice on the ship’s crew gets the victim’s room key from their PA buddy. She makes it look like the room is occupied until after leaving one of the stops. It appears the victim disembarked and never came back.”
Peklow stared at her for several moments. Cold anger settled in his gut. If she was telling the truth… “You got all that in two days of snooping?”
Wilmont smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“Carl Holdbridge sold a high-value item at Abbot’s three nights ago. Starlight Five left this morning with his bags. If you send an UPMS express message to its next planetary stop, they should be able to catch Louisa Steinway with the key and a room that contains only her fingerprints and/or DNA.”
All those inquiries concerning people that hadn’t returned home. He’d reported them as leaving Stromli Four after a check of the port files. The bogus files. Sonovabitch. How many had there been?
Wilmont rose and began fastening up her jacket. “I suggest sending someone in with a high-ticket item and have a team waiting to ambush the ambushers. I’m sure the gang members would rather talk with your Enforcers than with the casino boss funding the shop. I assume his interpretation of ‘spill your guts’ will be different from yours as his manager’s sideline just brought attention to the shop and possibly exposed any other operations.”
“Given that you’re obviously pissed at them, I’m surprised you aren’t taking care of it yourself.”
She gave him a cold smile. “Not everything you read about me is true, Detective Peklow.”
“Jem Wilmont?” When she paused in the doorway, he asked, “What did you sell?”
“Not relevant.”
He sat there, digesting her words and that cold smile. He heard Stahl’s confused Hey! Hey, you, moments before he appeared in the doorway.
“Who the hell was that? Where did she come from? There’s not a damn thing on security cams.”
Peklow pinched his nose. Obviously, some of the things he’d read were true.